Two to Tango
by drakien
Summary: Response to a YTDAW Challenge. Sara and Grissom at the Annual Policeman's Ball.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Two to Tango

**Author: **drakien and dance4eva

**Rating: **T/PG-13 for quasi-mature themes and damn sexy dancing

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Nada. I can only hope that one day I'll find them all for sale on eBay...**  
**

**A/N:** Back from a bit of a hiatus, inspired by the end of my junior year in college. For all those breathless awaiting news, I actually passed Organic Chemistry. I know...it surprised even me! This is a response to a YTDAW challenge. Elements to be included are: The Policeman's Ball, day and night shifts must go, dress shopping for Sara, Grissom must say the phrase "Did Ecklie just challenge me to a dance-off?", Sara and Griss doing the tango, an open bar, a drunk Greg, a picture of Sara and Greg with Sara holding up the hem of her dress to her thigh to reveal a garter and Greg pulling up his pants leg to reveal the same color garter, and GSR.

I would like to issue a warning to my readers…this story is GSR, but it is the most angst-ridden thing I have ever written. Fluff was too easy…sorry. Please review! I love reviews!

This is set pre-director-Ecklie, pre-nightshift-Spork and pre-shift split. Basically, in my own little happy place!

Shouts out to my little sister, dance4eva, who helped big-time with this story! It's so nice to know that we have two geeks in the family! Also, round of applause to Afissa Shah, best beta in the world!

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Catherine sailed into the break room, eyes glittering with fury. "Has anyone seen this?" she asked tightly, waving a piece of paper at the rest of the team.

"What is it?" Nick wanted to know.

"It's a flyer for the Annual Policeman's Ball. Which is taking place…" she looked at her watch, "in approximately 14 hours."

"So?" Warrick wanted to know. "We'll just blow it off. No big deal."

"Unfortunately," Catherine said, "that doesn't appear to be an option." She read from the card. "'You are cordially invited to the LVPD Annual Policeman's Ball. Attendance is expected. There will be a Latin Ballroom Dance competition, with cash prizes and bragging rights for the winning shift. Each shift is expected to provide two couples. Shifts not in compliance shall be disqualified. We look forward to seeing everyone there."

"Well," Sara drawled, "that's to the point, isn't it?"

"Did any of you hear anything about this?" Grissom wanted to know. Everyone had negative responses. Grissom was about to make another comment when Ecklie oozed into the room.

"Gil," he said with a sneer. "What a surprise to find you all here." He caught sight of the invitation Catherine still held. "Ah, the dance competition; hope you guys have been practicing, Grissom, because day shift is going to win." He smirked and strolled off to irritate other people.

Grissom looked around the room at his team. "Did Ecklie just challenge me to a dance-off?"

"Sounded like it to me," Catherine said. She surveyed the room. "Who wants to place bets as to why we didn't know about this before now?"

"That rat!" Nick exclaimed.

"We can't let him win, you know," Catherine said.

"Yeah," Warrick said. "But how do we even stand a chance?"

"'I have no desire to prove anything by dancing'…Fred Astaire," Grissom said.

"C'mon Grissom," Catherine said. "We have to do this. Besides, hell will have frozen over by the time Ecklie manages to acquire any kind of rhythm. All we have to do is enter the required two teams, and not embarrass ourselves too badly."

Grissom smiled slightly. "You make it sound simple."

"It is," she confirmed. "We're not trying to beat the entire department, Griss, just Ecklie. Besides, we've got two women working on this shift, so all you guys have to do is duke it out."

"I'm going to have to bow out early," Nick said sheepishly. "Unless there's some kind of line-dancing involved, I've got two left feet."

"Alright, Griss...just you and Warr."

Sara spoke up. "I don't know if I can do it, guys. I'll have to think about it." Before anyone could say anything, she got up and left the room.

"What's with her?" Catherine wanted to know.

"I dunno," Warrick said. He turned to his boss. "But it's your problem now, Griss. I'm claiming the redhead. I don't know much about dancing, and I've got a feeling she can teach me a thing or two."

Grissom's eyebrow rose, as did Catherine's. "Really?" she drawled. "Well, Griss, looks like it's up to you to be convincing."

The team exchanged grins, and left him alone to try and figure out what had just happened. Unless he was mistaken, events had conspired to set him up as Sara's date and dance partner for the party. Grissom blinked rapidly, still not entirely sure he wasn't dreaming. Well, one thing was certain…he needed to talk to Sara and figure this out.

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After a half-hour of searching, Grissom headed back to his office in defeat. She was either hiding from him, or no longer in the building. Since the hand rubbing his forehead partially blocked his vision, he didn't see the figure sitting in his office.

"Headache?" her voice asked.

His hand dropped abruptly, and his gaze fell on Sara.

"So I was thinking about it," she said, twisting her fingers together nervously. "And Catherine was right. We can't let Ecklie win. He's a schmuck, and he'd hold it over us forever."

"True," Grissom agreed cautiously. "So what do we do?"

"We win, Grissom," she said, her eyes daring him to disagree.

He opened his mouth to speak, but she had already plunged ahead.

"I, uh, guess since you'll be dancing with Catherine, I'll go let War…"

In a move that surprised even him, Grissom stepped forward and rested a finger across her lips to silence her.

"Warrick 'claimed' Catherine right after you left." He looked down, almost shyly. "Sara, would you do me the honor of allowing me to escort you?"

Her hesitation lasted about half of a second. She teased, "I dunno, Griss. Are you going to embarrass me on the dance floor?"

He quickly caught on to her mood, and put on an air of indignation. "I'll have you know that I was dragged to dancing lessons twice a week until I was able to escape to college. My mother thought it would 'help me with the girls'." Grissom smiled wryly at the memory, causing Sara to laugh. He eyed her suspiciously. "What about you?"

"I'll manage," she said, somewhat mysteriously. "The party's at seven this evening. Come by and pick me up at six? That should give us time to formulate our battle plan."

Grissom nodded. "Six it is." He shook his head in disbelief.

"What?" she asked.

"I'm just amazed that I'm not stuttering like an idiot," he mused. "This is shaping up to be suspiciously like a date, and I've managed not to screw up the conversation too badly."

Sara smiled knowingly, and patted his arm. "You're doing just fine. I'll see you tonight."

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Sara was in the layout room trying to sort out the series of events leading up to their victim's death when Catherine finally caught up to her. "So you're doing it," she asked excitedly. "Really?"

Sara nodded. "Really."

"No offense, Sara," Catherine said, "but can you dance?"

Sara let her mind drift back to the days when dance competition trophies lined her shelves. She smiled.

"Well enough so that I won't embarrass myself, if that's what you're asking."

Catherine looked at her suspiciously for a second, but let Sara's comment slide.

"Soo," Catherine drawled, "what are you wearing?"

Sara looked up at her, surprised. "Actually, I have no idea. I've probably got something in the back of my closet."

"What!" Catherine exclaimed. "Okay, that's it. We're _so_ going shopping after shift."

"Excuse me? Are you implying that I'm incapable of dressing myself?" A smile took any animosity out of her question.

"Nah," Catherine said. "But I know this great little shop, and personally," she lowered her voice and leaned closer in a rare display of camaraderie, "I have other things in mind for the evening."

Sara arched an eyebrow. "Oh? Such as?"

Catherine's eyes were twinkling. "Such as making sure my dance partner will be unable to form a coherent sentence when I'm around." She shot Sara a sidelong glance. "You in?"

It was wrong. That tiny, rational voice in the back of her head was screaming warnings, but the irrational side of her smothered them ruthlessly. Truth be told, Sara was tired of trying to maintain the status quo with Grissom. It was time to rock the boat a little bit, and this seemed like a perfect opportunity. Besides, he had even said it was like a date.

"You're car or mine?"

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The shop Catherine drove Sara to was located in one of the few places in Vegas Sara hadn't explored. Set back off of the Strip, it was spared some of the garish exterior. In fact, compared to the other shops around it, its appearance was downright drab.

"I used to shop here when I was dancing," Catherine explained. "They have a section of the store that caters to the high-end exotic dancers. I've got to warn you, though…this place isn't cheap."

"Doesn't matter," Sara said without hesitation. At Catherine's raised eyebrow, she explained, "I haven't splurged on my wardrobe in three years. I think it's about time, don't you?"

Catherine grinned as they entered the store, which appeared to be empty. Sara saw that everything seemed to be grouped by color and length, for easy locating. "Oh, and I should also warn you…the owner, Blanche, is the biggest sweetie ever, but she's got the soul of a stripper. It makes her an awesome fashion consultant, but she's a little rough around the edges."

"Duly noted," Sara said.

Catherine raised her voice and yelled toward the back room. "Blanche, put down those Krispy Kremes and get your ass out here! You've got customers!"

After the briefest of pauses, a voice from the back replied. "Only one broad in this town with a mouth that big and the balls to back it." A large, garishly dressed woman stepped out into the showroom. "Cat!" she exclaimed, and the women embraced warmly. "Looking to make a little green on the side? And who's this you brought with you?"

"Blanche Devereaux, this is Sara Sidle; we work together." Catherine rolled her eyes. "And no, we're not here about those kinds of outfits."

Blanche sighed gustily. "Too damn bad," she said. Eyeing Sara, she continued, "You ever get tired of dead bodies, girlie, you'd make a _fortune_ up on a pole with those legs."

Sara blushed. "I'll keep that in mind."

Sensing her friend's discomfort, Catherine steered the conversation back on track. "So, Blanche. We've got this ass-numbingly-dull party for work, mandatory attendance, and The Powers That Be thought they'd make things 'fun' by adding a little dance contest."

Blanche snorted, causing both Sara and Catherine to grin.

"Sara and I decided to sacrifice our modesty and compete," Catherine continued dramatically, "but we both need something that'll tip the odds in our favor and turn a few heads."

Blanche grinned salaciously. "Particularly the heads of the two gents you're with, I'll wager." She laughed when Catherine winked. "Well, Cat, you know where to find your stuff. We got one over in the blacks I think you'll like. Look around, and if you haven't found it by the time I get done with your friend, I'll point it out." She turned to Sara. "You, missy, come with me. I just got a smutty little red dress that'd look downright lethal on you." Blanche laughed coarsely. "Make both of your man's heads turn, if you catch my drift!"

She led Sara to the appropriate dress rack, pulling a particular one. Blanche held it up for Sara to examine.

Sara was stunned. "Wow."

"Think it might work," Blanche asked with a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

"Yeah," Sara said, still dazzled. "I think so."

"Well, go on," Blanche said, herding Sara toward the dressing rooms. "Try it on!"

Pulling the curtain shut, Sara scrambled out of her clothes, hands trembling slightly. It only took her a few minutes to work out the fasteners, and then it was on. She stood in front of the mirror, stunned at the sight of the woman looking back at her. She was no longer looking at CSI Sidle, or gangly, awkward Sara. The woman looking back at her oozed sex appeal.

"You gonna hide in there all day?" Catherine called through the changing room door.

Sara grinned. "Maybe," she called back.

"Oh, c'mon," Catherine coaxed, "It can't be that ba…"

Catherine was cut off by Sara coming out of the dressing room.

"Damn," she breathed.

The dress Sara wore fit as if it had been made for her. It was a red halter-top that had been…modified. Its neckline plunged down to somewhere just above Sara's navel, though the gap was held together by a jeweled clasp. Sara turned to model the back of the dress, but it seemed to be remarkably absent. Her movement had revealed what Catherine considered to be the best feature of all: a slit up the right front side of the dress that trampled all over 'indecent exposure'.

Catherine let out a low whistle as Sara turned this way and that to see herself in the three-way mirror.

"Cath, this is a totally slutty dress," Sara said.

"Yep," Catherine agreed.

"I look really good in it," Sara mused.

"Mm-hmm."

Sara's eyes narrowed speculatively. "He's going to lose his mind."

Catherine didn't have to ask who 'he' was.

"Completely," she agreed.

Sara turned to Blanche with a grin. "I'll take it." Looking back at Catherine, she took note of the dress she wore. "Niiiice," Sara drawled.

Catherine twirled girlishly, modeling her dress.

"Think it will work?" she asked.

"Oh yeah," Sara said firmly. "In fact, I think we might need to bring a mop for the drool."

Catherine laughed. "Looks like you hit a home run, Blanche!"

Blanche grinned. "Don't I always, Cat?"

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Grissom was nervous.

It was five minutes before he was supposed to pick Sara up, and he stood outside her door, fidgeting like a teenager on his first date. Grissom took a breath, and blew it out.

'_This is ridiculous_,' he thought. Before he could talk himself out of it, he raised his hand and knocked on her door.

"Just a second!" he heard her call from inside the apartment. A few moments later, the lock was thrown and the door swung open. Sara stood there, draped in a long black leather coat that tied at the waist. As his eyes traveled down her body, he thought he caught a hint of red under the edge of the coat. And she was barefoot.

"Hi," she said brightly. "Come on in."

He stepped inside, looking around curiously. "Make yourself at home," she said, gesturing toward her sofa. "I've just got to grab my shoes."

She disappeared into the other room, and he took the opportunity to continue his inspection of his surroundings. He found himself drawn to a collection of photographs that took up one of her shelves. One of them in particular held his attention. In it, Sara was holding up the hem of her dress to her thigh to reveal a purple garter. Standing beside her, Greg was had pulled up his pants leg to reveal the same color garter.

"Drunken bet," came the explanation from behind him. He turned, eyebrow raised. "Needless to say," she continued, "Greg lost."

He smiled. "So you mentioned a battle plan?"

"Absolutely."

She watched him as he continued to look around her apartment, and saw the moment he caught sight of the box she had pulled out of storage. He walked over to it, looking to her for permission to examine the contents. She nodded, crossing her arms as Grissom reached inside. When he withdrew his hand, it was holding a trophy. He frowned as he read the inscription on the base.

"Sara?" he asked.

"So did I ever tell you that I used to be a World Champion Ballroom Dancer?" she asked calmly.

Grissom opened his mouth and closed it again, speechless. Sara laughed.

"Breathe, Griss. It was a long time ago." She met his gaze almost challengingly. "But I was _good_, Grissom."

He swallowed audibly. "No doubt." He tipped his head to one side. "So why did you stop?"

Her face clouded briefly. "My partner. He was perfect for me, a wonderful dancer, but he had AIDS. We danced together for six years before he got too sick. And after he died, it just didn't seem the same."

"That's why you didn't want to participate tonight," Grissom said, finally understanding. She nodded.

"But we have to beat Ecklie," Sara said firmly. "There is no way we're going to let him win by default. In fact, if everything goes as planned, we're going to trounce him so badly, he won't show his face during our shift for months."

"Really," Grissom said, intrigued. "And how are we going to do that?"

"Griss, how much do you remember from your dance lessons?" she wanted to know.

"Honestly," he said with a shrug, "more than I probably should. Despite my protests at the time, I enjoyed it. I liked that it provided set formats, while at the same time encouraging creative expression."

"Yeah," she said, exhaling. "There's a part of me that really misses it."

"Me too," he admitted. "But hey, we'll get a chance to shatter everyone's preconceived notions tonight, and maybe have some fun." He held out his hand to her in silent invitation.

She laughed, her eyes sparkling, and took his hand. At that point they were both sure that Ecklie stood no chance.

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The drive to the Bellagio Hotel was silent. Pulling up in front of the hotel, Grissom slowed to as stop as the valet came out to meet them. They entered the hotel arm in arm, looking around for familiar faces in the lobby. It wasn't long before they spotted Warrick and Catherine standing by the ballroom entrance. Catherine had seen them as well, and waved as Sara and Grissom walked over.

"Warrick, Catherine," Grissom greeted. "Good to see you both."

"Well, I'll be damned, Gil," Catherine drawled. "I didn't think you and Sara would actually show up!"

Warrick eyed Catherine, smirking. "Pay up," he instructed.

She looked at him coyly. "Later."

Nick and Greg, already inside, had caught sight of everyone at the entrance and were making their way over to greet them.

"Heeey guysh!" Greg slurred.

Everyone looked at Greg sharply, then turned to Nick for an explanation.

He shrugged. "Open bar. Greg's been lubricating his joints for almost an hour."

"Gottah be ready to danshe wif Shara," Greg attempted to explain.

"Dude, you keep it up and the only 'danshing' you'll be doing is the kind with a lampshade on your head," Warrick warned.

"Why do I feel like I'm at my high school prom," Grissom complained. Greg and Nick stared at him in shock.

"Wait a minute," Nick said. "You mean to tell us that you actually went to your prom!"

Grissom was unwillingly drawn into a discussion with the other men about prom nights. As such, he wasn't paying close attention as he helped Sara with her coat. Catherine, however, was watching Grissom like a hawk, waiting to see his reaction to Sara's wardrobe.

Successfully evading several not-so-tactful questions about his own prom night, Grissom turned his attention back to the woman in front of him. His eyes first hit the back of her neck, which was visible since she wore her hair swept up that evening. He followed the line of her neck down, his eyes growing wider and wider as more and more skin was exposed to his gaze. By the time he had reached her waist, he was mentally gasping for breath. His other companions had also noticed the back of Sara's dress, or the significant lack thereof. There was dead silence for a long moment before Greg let out a wolf-whistle.

"Damn, girl," Nick exclaimed. "Where have you been hiding **that** body?"

Sara turned to glare at Nick and Greg. In the process, she revealed the front of the dress, and Grissom's brain ceased to function. Nick and Greg were once again rendered speechless, and stared openly at Sara with dual expressions of rapt adoration.

"What," Sara asked, sounding slightly irritated. "You guys act like you've never seen a girl in a dress before!"

Warrick, the only one who remained outwardly unaffected, chuckled.

"Not you they haven't," he said.

Sara scoffed and began walking towards the ballroom doors. She had only taken a few steps before she realized that Grissom was still rooted in place. She stopped, turning to look at him.

"Coming Griss?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Her voice snapped him back to reality. Handing their coats to the attendant, he muttered something unintelligible as he walked up to join her. Sara took his proffered arm, allowing herself a small smirk of triumph. The rest of the team filed in behind them as they entered the hall. As they walked through the doors, all conversation in the room slowly came to a halt. Everyone's eyes were glued to Sara and Catherine as they were escorted in.

Finding a table large enough to accommodate everyone, the night shift sat. Sara caught Catherine's eye across the table, and Catherine winked. As they sat and made small-talk, the sheriff came out on stage and stepped up to the podium.

"Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention please," the sheriff requested. As the room quieted, he continued. "It is my pleasure to welcome you all to the Annual Las Vegas Police Department Ball. I must say, I appreciate everyone making the effort to show up tonight." He paused as everyone chuckled. "But I'm sure you didn't come here to listen to me talk. Unless I'm mistaken, we've got a dance competition taking place tonight."

The crowd applauded wildly. "Before we begin," the sheriff continued, "I'd like to say a few words. Would everyone please join me in welcoming our judges, who have generously donated their time this evening." He gestured to six people sitting at one of the front table, who were acknowledged with polite applause. "At this point, I will turn the floor over to Mr. Paul Veritaas, who will explain the rules and guidelines."

There was a second round of applause as the Sheriff passed the microphone to one of the gentlemen standing nearby. "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," he said. "The dance competition taking place this evening will be undertaken in the Latin tradition. All participating couples will compete in three dances, the Rumba, the Samba, and the Paso doble. Among other things, judges will be looking at posture, technique, presentation and musical interpretation, floorcraft, and connection. The Relative Placement System will be utilized in scoring for all contestants, and the two teams with the highest scores will move on to the finals. These couples will each perform a dance of their choice, to be judged individually by the judges and by the audience. Votes will be tallied over dinner, and the final results will be announced at the end of the night. Finally, I have been informed that due to space limitations, only one couple from each shift can compete this evening."

This announcement was met with a chorus of groans and cheers. "Contestants, please report to the registration desk within the next ten minutes."

Catherine looked at Warrick, who caught her eye and nodded. She then turned to Sara.

"It's all you, Sara," she said. Holding up a hand to forestall protest, Catherine continued. "Sara, I don't even have the faintest idea what the 'Paso doble' is. I would have been fine if we were just competing with a dance of our choosing, but they've upped the ante, and I'd look like an idiot up there." Her eyes narrowed appraisingly. "Something tells me you won't."

Sara nodded.

"I'll go pick up your registration stuff," Nick offered. He got up and headed across the room.

"Nervous?" Sara asked, shooting Grissom a sidelong glance.

"A little," he admitted.

"Just remember, Griss…lesser dancers stumble, better dancers syncopate."

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Catherine had known as soon as Sara walked through the door with Grissom that she had danced before. It was just something intangible that other dancers learned to identify. So when the announcer called all dancers to the floor, she watched in rapt fascination as Sara stood and took his proffered hand. Now again, it was spelled out in the way she carried herself out onto the floor; her posture was exquisite, and she held herself with a controlled power and poise that was normally lacking. Grissom, too, had changed. No longer was he the brilliant but emotionally distant night-shift supervisor, who was always trying to stay off the political radar. This man projected confidence almost to the point of arrogance, something Catherine had never dreamed she see him express.

Oblivious to the musings of their coworker, Sara and Grissom stood at the edge of the dance floor waiting for the announcer to call their number. As they had made their way out onto the dance floor, Sara felt her years of competition experience take over. She felt her identity sliding away, until she was no longer Sara Sidle. Instead, she found herself transported to another plane of existence, where she was just a faceless performer. There was nothing in her world except the music, the steps, and her partner. She only vaguely heard the judges announcing the first dance. Not that she needed it. Her body had already tuned in to the beat, and was moving in perfect synchronization with his. Grissom seemed to have picked up her frame of mind as well, and soon they were just two people on the dance floor, moving in seamless perfection.

Catherine watched the couples closely. Most of them appeared to be out there mainly for fun, and not a few were downright painful to watch. Perhaps as a result, Ecklie and his partner, a blonde woman named Sofia Curtis, were much better than many of the couples out on the floor. However, Catherine noted a lack of comfort between the two. Their interactions appeared forced, even choppy, and Sofia seemed to have as much trouble letting Ecklie lead as he had actually leading. She noticed Ecklie's lips moving silently, and nearly laughed out loud when she saw he was counting to himself.

Sara and Grissom were clearly in a class by themselves.

They seemed to flow effortlessly through the twists and turns of the Rumba, the volta movements and promenade runs of the Samba, and the travelling spins of the Paso doble. There was a passion between the two that was nearly electric, and it took their movements to a different dimension. Catherine found herself blinking back tears at the identical expressions of naked longing on their faces. Here, on this night, they were two people who finally could allow themselves the freedom to love each other, and it showed.

The final steps of the Paso doble ended and Sara's awareness slowly returned. The first things she noticed were Grissom's hands. One clasped her hand tightly, while the other left a searing brand on the bare skin of her lower back. The next thing that registered was the press of his hips against her own, and the rough texture of his tux where her bare leg wrapped around his waist. Finally, Sara noticed that the final steps of the dance had left her in a low dip with Grissom looming over her. For the first time since she'd known him, he was looking at her without a wall between them. Grissom, the person everyone accused of having the emotional depth of a puddle, was looking at her with an intensity that excited and angered her at the same time. He must have read something similar in her expression, because his eyes narrowed as he pulled her upright slowly.

"Damn you," she whispered.

"Damn you too," he grated back.

They stood there locked in a silent battle as the scores were quickly tallied. The announcer stepped up to the microphone and announced that Sara, Grissom, Ecklie and Sofia would be moving on to the final dance-off. A toss of a coin named Sara and Grissom as the first couple to dance.

As they waited for the music to cue up, she stepped forward, invading his personal space. She leaned forward until her lips were beside his ear. "Think you're up for a little 'creative expression', Grissom?" she taunted in a low, sultry voice.

He growled deep in his throat, pulling her up against him roughly. In a husky tone, he replied. "Are you?"

"Dance with me," she whispered, her gaze locked with his.

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Their mutual anger was channeled into their movements, and as the dance began, Grissom pulled her into a passionate embrace. The music and the sensations coursed through her blood like a drug, pounding through her body until she was lost. Sara didn't resist as his hands roamed her body – shoulders, waist, hips – in ways that were sure to start all kinds of gossip.

His every move told her of the sinful things that he wanted to do to her, and her moves challenged him to do them. It was both a mating dance and a duel, and they tortured each other in full view of the world.

He moved, plunging her backwards into a dramatic dip, and she hung helplessly in his arms, eyes glittering with barely contained rage. She countered, hauled herself up out of the submissive position and spun away, but it was as if the dance now mimicked real life. With a yank he reeled her back into his arms like a yo-yo on a string. There he held her prisoner – her back to his chest, her body tucked into his hips, his chin nestled into her shoulder. He seemed unable to release her. Imprisoned against the hard planes of his body, they moved across the dance floor in their heated embrace. He impaled her with his eyes, brainwashing her with his body in a hot grinding embrace.

She spun, her dress flaring, and shoved away from him. He stalked her across the floor, but now she was in control. She had seen the truth in his eyes, and knew the power she held over him.

Their bodies entwined, they moved each other through the steps of La Resolucion and brought the dance to an end.

Theirs was a wordless tango of passion, anger, regret…and pain. And it would continue until their silence tore them apart. There would be no happy endings…not yet.

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At the end of the night, they were officially declared the winners of the dance-off. Much to Ecklie's dismay, the scores had been posted, showing everyone just how brutally Grissom had beaten him. Sara excused herself early, and Grissom said nothing beyond 'goodnight'. He just watched her walk away, intoxicated by her body as it swayed in that red dress.

******oXo XoX oXo XoX oXo XoX oXo XoX oXo XoX oXo XoX oXo XoX oXo XoX oXo XoX oXo XoX **

The dance was two weeks past, and Sara was still in hell.

That night, when she had said goodnight and excused herself, she felt his eyes on her retreating form. She had simply kept walking, struggling not to stumble, not to break out into a full-fledged run. None of them had seen the tears. She had managed to make it through the ladies'-room door before her emotions had swamped her and escaped her with a sob. The room had been blessedly empty. Sara had been abruptly and painfully reminded of how emotionally charged dancing could be with the right partner. She had caught her reflection in the mirror, but hadn't recognized the fragile, wounded-looking woman who peered back. Knowing she needed to leave before someone came in, Sara had hurriedly wiped her face, all the while scolding herself for letting her guard down.

She spent days feeling like she would shatter like the champagne glass Greg had smashed on the floor in his alcohol-induced clumsiness. For some time, she had been sure that just knowing if Grissom returned her feelings would be enough. Now she knew. And it wasn't. So now, though she continued to come up empty, she found herself searching for the strength that had kept her going all these years.

******oXo XoX oXo XoX oXo XoX oXo XoX oXo XoX oXo XoX oXo XoX oXo XoX oXo XoX oXo XoX **

'_It was harder now,'_ Grissom thought as he drove home. He had turned the radio on in an attempt to drown out his thoughts, but it wasn't working.

For the last two weeks, Sara had been haunting his dreams. He awoke each morning with the memory of how she smelled in his arms, like an exotic flower on a hot summer night. Dancing with her had been the best experience of his life, and yet he wished the night had never happened. Because it had given him a taste of what could be. For those brief moments, he had let her in, and now he would spend the rest of his life trying to restore order to the chaos.

Trying to banish her from his mind, he tuned into the mellow voice of the radio DJ, who was about to impart some kind of wisdom to a caller.

"Love is about wildness and mystery," he said. "It's about disorder – even danger. It's a terrifying ride at the amusement park that turns you upside down and takes your breath away – and if you let yourself lose control, you'll see stars."

Contemplating those words, a line from a Robert Frost poem echoed in Grissom's mind…

'Some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice.'

To him, it felt like both.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N 2**: Had a brain fart this morning (blaming lack of sleep) and forgot to mention…in addition to the not owning anything, the tango scene was completely inspired by the book based on the new movie "Mr. & Mrs. Smith". There is a great 'angry tango' scene in it (I haven't seen the movie yet), and it really helped me figure out how to actually _write_ the emotions of the dance without talking about the technical steps. I don't dance (tho my sister/coauthor does, just jazz, tap, and hip-hop…no ballroom), so please don't flame about technical incorrectness. We tried.


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